


Maybe you talk too much and you were asking for it

by multifannish



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, God I hate tagging, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Curse of the Black Pearl, Restraints, The Black Pearl (Pirates of the Caribbean), i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:46:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25629931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multifannish/pseuds/multifannish
Summary: Jack Sparrow is an idiot who talks too much. Barbossa decides to shut him up... with the convenient side-effect that he will no longer be quite so horny afterwards.Warning: Consent is just kind of implicitly there rather than explicitly given. Just in case anyone wants to pass because of that.
Relationships: Hector Barbossa & Jack Sparrow, Hector Barbossa/Jack Sparrow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 99





	Maybe you talk too much and you were asking for it

**Author's Note:**

> This is so much of a PWP that it's not even proofread, so some grammatical errors may occur.  
> The framework is pretty slapped together but I do believe the lemon itself is pretty good lol

Jack Sparrow was an idiot. 

That in itself was nothing new, though he seemed to work tirelessly to remind everyone of this, frequently, through his mere existence alone. At least, many of those who knew him would agree to that being the case.

And then, there was Barbossa. Well-known for his signature eyeroll, even he himself was at this point not sure if it had not been Jack who was responsible for him developing it. It seemed very likely now, having spent weeks at sea with him, confined to the same ship and consistently exposed to just. Everything about him.

Jack was loud, careless, and constantly leaving a trail of chaos behind. And still, he managed to be just that little bit too useful and hardworking for Barbossa to just throw him overboard and be done with it. Nevermind that he was pleasing to look at, though he’d never admit as much.

Jack kept the crew entertained, conjuring up rum and a beat-up guitar from a hidey-hole Barbossa had yet to discover every now and again, to gather those not on night-duty around for an hour or two of drunken antics. He kept the crew’s spirits up, being the one person on board who could get away with these things without getting reprimanded for it by the Captain. Because, in all honesty – while Jack still insisted on the title and made a point of claiming to oh so generously share it (“only for the time being!”) with Barbossa for as long as they were both aboard the _Pearl_ – he had quickly disregarded most duties a Captain would have. And in favour of getting on Barbossa’s nerves as much as possible, it seemed.

Jack danced around him and trailed after him like a mutt followed someone with food, he voiced every comment he could think of – and being Jack Sparrow, he _always_ had something to say, though it rarely was of importance. But, Barbossa had to admit that much, a couple of times his interjections had genuinely been helpful. A second opinion was often rather useful, if only the person giving it had known to be _quiet_ sometimes. 

„You know, Jack,“ said Barbossa one late evening, hunched over maps and telescopes, with that familiar drawl in his voice. Jack’s continuous murmuring ceased as he looked up from his ever-present companion, the bottle. “If you had half as much in the way of brains as you do in the way of words, you’d be ruling the world on merit alone.”

“But what fun is there in everyone knowing there’s purpose behind it when I speak? That’s the trick, to say just enough sensible things that the right people know to listen to you, even when you’re blabbering on about nothing at all.”

“I suppose I am among these ‘right people’ you speak of, then? Because to my dismay, you never seem to keep your mouth shut around me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Hector. You’re the worst of all people I’ve ever come across.”

He sounded deadpan serious, but Barbossa knew he was not. Knowing Jack Sparrow for as long as he had, he was intimately familiar with how he communicated. “Aye. I can only return the same sentiment to you most sincerely,” he responded and turned his attention back to the maps before him. Jack, of course, disregarded this pointed end to their conversation and merrily carried on with it as though nothing were amiss.

“If only you ever acted on your words, though that would have had me in a fair amount of trouble thus far.”

Barbossa resisted the urge to roll his eyes before he looked back up. Yes, that habit definitely originated in the fact that he knew Jack bloody Sparrow.

“I should have killed you when you had the chance.”

“Why, you have a chance right now, but you and I both know exactly you’re not going to use it,” said Jack, gesturing vaguely towards the pile of belts and coats and holsters with swords and guns in them that they’d disregarded in favour of letting the evening fade into night more comfortably. 

“I wouldn’t soil the _Pearl_ with your rotten blood,” Barbossa retorted, resigning himself to the fact that he was not going to get any more work done tonight. He stretched out his arm and Jack lazily extended his own just enough to pass the bottle.

“I think you just like having something nice to look at,” he grinned and Barbossa almost choked on the rum. He only just managed to not let it show. That tone of voice he was not familiar with.

“If I wanted something nice to look at, I’d go fish myself up a mermaid,” he said. Jack was still grinning, head tipped back and eyes closed. “Pretty they may be, but what good is a doxy when she’s got a fish tail?”

“And what good are you?”

Jack opened his eyes to look back at Barbossa who, face set in stone, only stared him down. If Jack wanted to go down that road, two could play at that game. 

He held out a couple of seconds before, squirming ever so slightly under those persistent eyes, Jack got up and, grabbing one of the oil lamps off the table, swiftly made his way to the door. “You know, Hector,” he said as he opened it and slipped through, “Since it’s you I’ll have you know I’m of more use than a mermaid, though I hardly expected a man such as yourself to care for amusement of the kind.”

And with that, he was gone. Barbossa grumbled under his breath. It seemed time had come to teach Jack a lesson once again, and even though this time there was a distinct lack of an island to leave him on, he was sure to find a way.

He grabbed his coat on the way out the cabin and, stepping on deck, soon saw Jack standing lonely behind the wheel. The deckhand on night duty was nowhere in sight, so he had to have sent him to sleep.

“Ah, Hector!” called Jack, his voice as gleeful as ever. “Come to join me and learn something about steering? Well, I must disappoint you, the night’s just too calm.”

“Get down here,” growled Barbossa and to his surprise, Jack obliged, swinging the lamp behind him as he descended the wooden stairs down to the main deck. He set it down on a lone barrel that had been left next to the mast – rather carelessly, should the sea get rough it was sure to tumble and roll all around the ship.

“Came to see what good I am, huh?”

“And what if I said that I did,” said Barbossa, making it a statement rather than a question. Jack took a step back that seemed almost reflexive, and Barbossa in turn took one towards him again. It was evident Jack had not been prepared for anything serious to come of his ongoing thoughtless commentary. 

Barbossa was now much more actively crowding into his space and Jack, while not exactly shying away from the contact, was slowly but surely walking backwards until his back hit the mast. With his head tilted back against the wood, he held eye contact. Barbossa’s face was dark, and a small grin played on his lips. 

“You like to play with fire, Jack,” he said in a low voice, “but you always run when you feel the heat of the flames.”

“Well I can’t say that that doesn’t sound sensible to me to be honest. If I were you, I’d get myself checked for typhoid since given the distinct absence of fire on this deck, this sounds like a fever to me mate, and more importantly, like a you-problem.”

Barbossa didn’t bother to even respond to that. Instead, he reached up and pulled Jack’s bandana down over his eyes. Jack, reaching up to right himself, had not even gotten out one word of complaint when Barbossa already taken hold of his wrists and with a surprising swiftness shackled him with the pair of cuffs dangling from the mast. Usually, those were reserved for captured individuals that were still needed alive, or mutinous crew members that needed to be taught a lesson. But now, Jack found himself blinded and bound with his back to the mast and Barbossa in front of him.

“Oh, don’t go and complain now, Jack,” he said when Jack once again attempted to protest. “You can thank that wicked tongue of yours for this.”

Jack’s mouth was twisting into that grin of his, even blind and shackled it could not be wiped off that damned face. “You wish you had a tongue as wicked as mine to keep you company at night, Hector.”

In response, Barbossa took hold of the bandana once again and tugged it down until it lay over Jack’s lips. 

“I have no use for your tongue, mate,” he growled as he pulled the knot behind Jack’s head tight until the fabric was pulled so tight, it had forced its way between Jack’s teeth and gagged him into silence. He was lying and they both knew it. His blood was pumping through his veins like waves rushing in a storm and his heart was beating angrily in his throat. “But since you’re so eager, let’s see what the rest of you has to offer!”

He could see Jack’s eyes widen when he tore the buttons at his collar apart and pulled roughly at the sash around his waist. He evidently had not expected it to go any further than it had. Barbossa no longer paid attention to the face in front of him and instead focused on jamming one hand down Jack’s pants and one up his shirt, roaming all over that arching body that stood helplessly at his mercy before him. 

He could already feel himself getting hard at the prospect of finally taking control, finally shutting Jack up for good and ridding himself of that constantly teasing smile that came with every suggestive thing he said. 

Jack’s body felt rough under his hands, a strange mixture of softness where his stomach bulged ever so slightly and his hips met his waist, and the wiry hard muscle of a seafaring man who was used to working a ship for hours a day. He trailed his fingers across Jack’s ribs, the slightly protruding spine and the little bit of soft thigh he could reach. 

It was about power, he told himself with every new jolt of anticipating pleasure he felt going to his groin, about having Jack at his mercy, about forcing him to submit. Jack smelled of sea salt and musk, and though Barbossa felt the urge to taste it on his skin he refused to give himself away like that. He was so hard it ached when he roughly thrust his hands down Jack’s pants to dig his nails into his arse as he squeezed. He was pushing himself up and close to the arching body in front of him, close enough to hear Jack’s heavy breathing. Close enough to feel something press hard into his upper thigh. Another jolt rushed through him.

With a glance, Barbossa found the lamp he’d set on the barrel next to the mast and dipped his fingers in the puddle of oil surrounding it, only to force them back down and leave a warm trail down Jack’s tailbone. He felt Jack shudder when the coated fingers found their destination, pressing ruthlessly into him. He was not planning to waste any time being gentle. With his other hand, Barbossa blindly fumbled open his own belt, pressing his forehead against Jack’s shoulder and stifling a gasp when he wrapped his hand around his aching cock. 

A muffled sound reached his ear and he pulled back just enough to see Jack’s flushed face thrown back against the mast, his eyes closed and his lips slack around the gag in his mouth. Letting go of himself, Barbossa reached up and pulled the bandana away entirely, pressing a second finger into Jack’s quivering body as he did. A barely stifled moan escaped Jack’s throat and Barbossa thrust his fingers in deep, so deep it just had to hurt, only to see Jack’s expression twist into anything but pleasure. 

“Let me have one hand mate, come on,” Jack gasped, breathless and pushing himself forward against Barbossa, only to gently rock back against the fingers inside of him with a shudder. His eyes fluttered open into a half-lidded gaze. Barbossa’s face was a hard, stony mask. He’d wanted to crush Jack, to dominate him, ruin him, and here that bastard was enjoying himself. He reached up blindly, staring into those dark eyes all the while, and turned the key in one of the shackles that sprang open obediently and allowed Jack to ease down one arm.

Before Barbossa knew it, Jack had hooked his arm round his neck and forced him forward, painfully clashing their mouths together in a panting, sloppy imitation of a kiss. He pulled back instinctively and grabbed Jack by the throat with his free hand, angry and at a loss as to what to even say. A propitiative smile played on Jack’s lips.

“Do you of all people really want to play by the rules of the whores?” he asked, voice raspy and choked, and Barbossa had no more patience or will to pretend any longer that he didn’t truly desire the sweet pleasure of it all. He lunged forward and Jack gasped into the sudden heat of the kiss, blindly feeling for Barbossa’s crotch only to take hold of his aching cock and jerking it in sloppy strokes as he arched back against the fingers still buried inside of him.

Barbossa finally released his grip on Jack’s throat and let his hand travel in rough, urgent ways across any of Jack’s bare skin he could reach, leaving his lips to bite into his neck and rewarding Jack’s shameless moans with a spreading of his fingers inside of him. Jack was writhing and squirming against him desperately and Barbossa soon pulled his fingers out and wiped them carelessly on Jack’s trousers before pulling them down and swatting Jack’s hand away from his dick. He could hear the breathless panting hitch in anticipation.

He grabbed Jack’s thighs to lift him up against his hips, and Jack wrapped his legs around him so eagerly that he couldn’t help yet another spark shooting right down to his groin. Jack’s free arm was wrapped around his shoulders and tugging at his coat. Barbossa shrugged out of it one arm at a time until it fell to the floor in a messy heap and Jack snaked one shaky hand under the collar of his shirt, grasping at the skin underneath.

Barbossa ignored the calloused fingers against his bare shoulder and instead held Jack steady with one of his arms, pulling down what last bit of trousers was still in the way and lining himself up with the other before letting Jack sink down. He had to stifle a groan when he felt the tight heat envelop him. Jack groaned and gasped with shameless abandon, throwing his head back and clawing at his neck. Barbossa gritted his teeth as he began to slowly, steadily move his hips, refusing to let this be over too fast. And yet he couldn’t help picking up speed rather quickly. Too good did it feel after so long at sea, too intense was the sensation of tight heat around him, the press of another body against his and the way the air was thick and heavy, filled with moaning and panting.

Jack was pulling his hand away and instead pulling at his own trousers until his cock was no longer obstructed by fabric, stroking himself in long, quick motions.

“Take it easy there, Jack,” warned Barbossa breathlessly, “I won’t give you the courtesy of a break.”

“Good,” was all Jack breathed back through a gasp and Barbossa felt the word like a surge in his veins. He began pounding faster, harder, and Jack moaned for it like a Tortuga whore, once again wrapping his arm around Barbossa’s neck to pull him in, and this time, Barbossa let him. 

Their breaths mingled between their sloppily aligned mouths, as Barbossa kept a steady pace and Jack braced himself on his shoulders, moving himself up and down with his rhythm as best as he could. The shackles above rattled and clinked together until Barbossa pushed Jack up against the mast for a moment and fumbled with the remaining cuff until it sprang open. Jack’s arm came flying down around his shoulders and he once again crashed their lips together with painful force. Barbossa resumed his grip on Jack’s hips and lifted him away only to push him down onto the deck, allowing him the courtesy of resting his head on the discarded coat. 

Jack went along all too willingly and spread his legs open for Barbossa to push into him once more with force. Jack threw his head back with another one of his throaty moans, eyes falling closed. His hand flitted once again towards his crotch, but Barbossa slapped it away and held it in place above Jack’s head. His other hand was grasping Jack’s waist in a bruising grip, guiding him down as he pounded into him mercilessly. He could hear his blood rushing in his ears and his breath coming in quick, heavy bursts as he was approaching his climax when Jack lifted his free hand up over his head and, with an urgent look from half-lidded eyes, nudged it against Barbossa’s iron grip around his other wrist. 

Following the unspoken plea, Barbossa pinned him down and Jack arched his back in response, graceless and lovely, and Barbossa lunged down to press his mouth to Jack’s when he came, half-heartedly trying to smother his strangled groan. 

Barbossa kept on pounding him through his orgasm, trailing his hand down from Jack’s wrists to give his cock a couple of quick, messy strokes until Jack, too, spilled himself all over his shirt, wrapping his arms around Barbossa like a vice as he did.

They stayed like that for a moment, Barbossa’s head resting on Jack’s shoulder and Jack’s arms crossed across his back, until Barbossa pulled away and wiped his soiled hand on Jack’s trousers. 

Jack had that grin on his face again. “Next time, you could just ask,” he said as he lazily rustled his clothes back into roughly their proper position. 

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” Barbossa asked, pulling his coat out from under Jack’s head. Jack shrugged, evidently fully disinclined to get up now that he’d covered himself up again. “Journey’s long,” he said, eyes fixed on the stars. “Nights are lonely.”

“We’ve managed thus far.”

Jack’s eyes flicked away from the sky and to Barbossa’s face. The mischievous twinkle to them was back now. “But why waste the potential of having established this marvellous possibility now? Least if we die at sea now it won’t be of loneliness.”

Barbossa couldn’t help but laugh at that. He lay down next to Jack, propping his head up on his coat and stared up at the night sky. “With you around, Jack Sparrow, no man could feel lonely. You’re too much of a nuisance to let anyone feel truly alone for too long.”

“You’re welcome!” said Jack, and Barbossa didn’t need to look at him to know he was grinning. 

“Until you try to get me killed again,” he said, allowing in a next time or a few, and Jack gave him a hum of agreement. “Until I get your sorrowful mug off the deck of my ship,” he replied. 

“The only one leaving _my_ ship will be you,” retorted Barbossa in the familiar bickering manner they were so used to by now that it no longer meant anything. Truly, as long as it was one of them steering the _Pearl_ across the seas, she was in safe enough hands after all. 

“Good thing the night’s calm,” came Jack’s voice after a moment of silence. Barbossa grinned. “If that’s how you experienced it, I’ll be sure to give you a real storm the next time.”

Jack’s laughter rang across the empty deck. 

As the waves rushed calmly along and the stars travelled slowly across the sky, there they lay in silence. At some point, Jack procured a bottle of rum from somewhere between the barrels and passed it over. It stood between them, both of them holding on to the hazy glass. Now and again, fingers brushed against each other just barely. And just for tonight, this silent imitation of intimacy was as wanted as it was lovely, only to find its end in the far off break of dawn.


End file.
